


a fact or a weapon

by stellahibernis



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Other characters mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 19:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2634152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellahibernis/pseuds/stellahibernis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“He knew you wanted him but he never chose you. Never wanted to.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s the truth, of course it’s the truth, Steve has known it half his life, but it still hurts. “And now what, why?” He just doesn't understand.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Now I want to.”</i>
</p>
<p>Steve and Bucky have orbited around each other most of their lives, but it's not quite so easy finding common ground in life, or in love for that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a fact or a weapon

_“The things we say are_

_true; it is our crooked_

_aim, our choices_

_turn them criminal.”_

 

***

 

**Then:**

 

Bucky got used to the way Steve looked at him sometimes long before he knew what it meant. It was this peculiarly steady look, completely focused, and he always felt like he was the only thing that mattered to Steve when he looked at him like that. When he was young,  when their lives were less complicated and when saying they were best friends was the whole truth, he liked it. Later, when things got more complicated, he wouldn't admit to himself how he felt about it.

It was an unbearably hot summer Sunday when everything changed. He was sixteen and they were out on the fire escape of the Rogers' apartment. He was lying on his back and Steve was sitting near him, sketching an alley cat lying in the sun on the next fire escape. He had dozed off for a bit, and when he opened his eyes the next time Steve's notebook was lying forgotten on his lap, and Steve was just sitting there, looking at him. The afternoon sun made a halo out of his blond hair and for a moment the only thing Bucky could do was to stare back.

He knew it then; he'd seen people look at other people like this, it meant they liked them. And of course Steve liked him, they'd been best friends for years, but now he was starting to think there was another meaning for Steve liking him. He didn't know what to do with the knowledge, this potentially dangerous knowledge. Because he'd seen things, he'd heard things. And there was one thing he had to do, really the only thing he could do. It was something that felt like it was written in his bones. He had to protect Steve from all harm, any and every way he could.

It wasn't like Steve didn't know things, perhaps he knew just as well as Bucky. They never talked about it, because even alluding to it by way of other people would have been too close for comfort. But he noticed that it started to happen less often, he didn't catch Steve looking at him like that as often. And at first, there had been this irrational panic, he was afraid that Steve didn't care as much anymore, and it didn't make sense because surely it would have been better, safer. That was what he should have cared the most about, because Steve was his friend. He always used to emphasise the word friend in his head, and even then he knew he was avoiding things. And he always made sure to be friendly as ever with Steve, to not change anything.

He grew older, and he started finding success with girls. He found that he liked their attention, and he made an effort to treat them well. He learned to dance, minded his manners, never pushed them in any way to be more intimate with him than they wanted to. He thought some of his friends would have been surprised how far one got with that approach. He knew the girls talked among themselves, and if you pressured one of them too much, you’d get a reputation and then none of them would come dancing or anywhere with you. He made sure he didn't get a reputation like that.

It was fine for a while. Bucky had started to think he'd just imagined it, that he had interpreted Steve completely wrong. Of course it was just friendship between them, they were just closer than most friends. He ignored the little voice in his head that insisted he couldn't have been wrong, because by now he knew what Steve was thinking most of the time. How could he have gotten one thing, one huge thing so wrong.

And of course, he hadn't.

They were sitting out on the fire escape again, and later Bucky would think how curious it was that these significant moments tended to concentrate in particular places. It was Steve's eighteenth birthday, the last minutes of it really, and they were drunk from cheap whiskey that Bucky had managed to get for the occasion. They could hear the noise from the celebration on the streets nearby, but on the alley there was no one else. Earlier they had been walking around Brooklyn, but Bucky had known Steve was tired, and they had come back in.

So there they sat, elbows bumping against each other, not really talking about anything. They were just enjoying the cooler night air after a hot day and each other's company. The almost empty bottle stood forgotten at Bucky's side. He hummed happily a bit, because it had been a good day and everything felt easy and loose. It was only when he glanced at Steve he found him looking at him, again with that peculiar concentration that he hadn't seen recently and had thought he'd imagined. Only now he remembered all the times Steve had turned his eyes away from him as soon as they met. He finally realized that it wasn't that Steve had stopped looking at him, only that he had gotten better at hiding it.

It was Steve's birthday and they were both drunk and there was no one to see them and it would have been so _easy_.

But his first priority, his need of having to protect Steve was still much stronger than the pull he felt that night, so he just smiled like he always did, like he hadn't noticed anything. He turned back to look up to the sky, never stopped humming and thought that was it, just like it always was. He was startled almost out of his skin when there was a light pressure on his shoulder from Steve resting his forehead there, because it was new. It only lasted for a few seconds, and he barely managed to stay still.

After this, he kept asking girls to come dancing with him, and sometimes he found one for Steve as well. He liked some of the girls well enough, but it never felt like there was a connection strong enough for it to become serious. So he moved on, from one to another, always charming, always trying to be the best he could for them. Always hoping to find that special edge with one of them. Steve, it seemed to him, didn't really even try to make a connection, whatever he might say. It was almost like a panic, every time he met someone new, every time Steve met someone new, he just repeated in his head _please please please_. Please be that special someone, please make these troubles go away.

And then the war came.

He was 26 years old and for the first time in his life he thought there was a very good chance that he'd never see Steve again. They were at the World Exposition, in the middle of the crowd and he was halfway angry. More accurately, he couldn't decide whether to be more angry or to just let go, but here they were. They had fought, like they did these days, finding ways to hurt each other with only a few words so that outsiders probably wouldn't even notice how bitter the argument was, and a part of him wanted to just walk away. But he couldn't, not that day. Not when he was leaving and there was a fair chance he'd never come back. So he extended the figurative olive branch and just as always, they made up as easily as they had fought. And if he hugged Steve a little tighter than he normally did, no one else needed to know.

On the ship, on the march, in the trenches, he was always keeping one thought close to his heart. Steve wasn't there, he was safe, he didn't have to experience the horror of the reality of war. Steve probably still hated it, but it was worth it for him to be safe. This thought was his solace on the battlefield. And later, when he was prisoner, when he lay on that table in pain, barely holding on to his sanity, he still kept the image of Steve in his mind. It was so clear sometimes that for a moment he thought it was just another hallucination, a figment of imagination when Steve actually came for him.

Except it wasn't Steve like Bucky remembered, like he could see in his mind. It was Steve like he had always deserved to be. Healthy and strong. And he should have been happy, he was happy that Steve was better, happier. And he wasn't because this was his worst nightmare, Steve here on the battlefield where death was a regular visitor and he knew that all miracle serums in the world wouldn't make its shadow disappear.

So he was angry, angry at everyone involved in the project for doing this to his friend, angry at Steve for agreeing, angrier at him for coming to rescue them alone from behind enemy lines and feeling completely deflated when Steve confessed, just to him, the night they had made it back to the camp that he hadn't really thought about the others outside of getting them out since he was already there. It was Bucky he had come for, simple as that. He didn't have anything to say to that. He didn't want to think about what it meant.

They would have let him go home, and on one hand he wanted to take that chance, because he didn't want to go back to the horror of battlefield. He wanted to take his things, get on the ship and go back home, but he couldn't, because there was no home for him now in New York. Steve was here, going into the battle, and so it was the simplest thing to decide. He'd follow Steve, wherever this path would take them, however far away from home.

It was cold in the European forests that seemed to stretch for forever. Often on the march he kept just a few steps behind Steve, trying to stay vigilant in the enemy territory, but occasionally his attention strayed to Steve focusing on the silver star in the middle of his shield that he usually carried on his back. It was round and perfect and bright, basically a target, except if one hit the target it wouldn't do anything to Steve, since it was also indestructible. It was the weirdest thing, how attached Steve has become to the shield in such a short time, when it had just stemmed from him needing something to carry the speech notes at first for the performances.

It was weirdly unsettling for Bucky, that Steve should have _a thing_ meant for his defense, even if he had found a lot of ways to use the shield as an offensive weapon as well. What was unsettling to him, he could quietly admit to himself, was that before he had basically been Steve's shield, but now Steve was strong enough to not need him to be one. It was still his most basic instinct, to protect Steve, and now Steve didn't need anyone standing in front of him anymore. But he couldn't leave, so he had learned to be something else. His war experience had changed him; sometimes he thought more than he even knew himself. It had made him sharper and harder, passed him through a figurative and literal fire. Steve didn't need a shield anymore, so Bucky became a sword, one that cut down the enemy in their path, because it needed to be done.

He found he didn't need to stand between Steve and the world to protect him, he could do it from far away.

Sometimes it felt like it was always winter in Europe, and it was so strange again, because his head kept telling him to look after Steve, that the cold wasn't good for him. Only now Steve was the only one of them who didn't seem to mind the cold. He was radiating warmth, more than a normal person, and when they sat next to each other in the camp he could feel it at his side. It was comforting, telling him not to worry, but underneath there was still the irrational part of him that resented it, that wanted Steve away from battlefield. Wanted him safe. Except Steve wouldn't have been safe in New York in the middle of the winter if he had never had the serum, especially alone. There would have been a different set of dangers. There just wasn't a good alternative.

Sometimes he found himself leaning into Steve a little, into his warmth, and every time after that he tried to keep his distance for a while, but Steve never let him. It seemed like a casual thing, stemming from the fact they knew each other from before, the way Steve always found him and how they ended up sitting next to each other again. He thought it probably wasn't, or it was but it was more than that, more complicated, but he didn't really want to fight it. Even though he often felt he should have. Sometimes he felt like he was a moth dancing around Steve's light, always had been, and he feared that if he got too close he'd get burned. Only it wasn't really a good analogy, because he believed that if they got too close to each other they would both burn, and he would not let that happen.

But he couldn't deny the pull that had always existed between them. It was like gravity, strong and undeniable. Walking after Steve through the battlefields, he had finally put it to words, dared to say it in his mind. It was love. Of course it was love. Only he didn't want to define what kind of love, outside of always having to be there, always having to protect Steve. It was something he knew he could never let go of.

He did all he could to protect Steve from harm to the last, and he was Steve's shield one last time. It was strange, the things that printed themselves into his mind those last few seconds. Steve's shield was still bright but there were marks in the paint where bullets had struck and its weight was reassuring, but it wasn't enough, he was not quite strong enough.

And it was too far, the few inches between their fingers could have been whole worlds.

The metal gave away and he fell and the wind rushed past him, forcing air out of his lungs. It was a long way down, and he knew he was already dead, his body just hadn't realized it yet. It was hard to see, his eyes were wet maybe from the wind, maybe because of other things, but he refused to close them. Instead he stared after the train and the blue shape at its side, getting smaller and smaller, curling into itself. And while falling, he thought that this was something he couldn't protect Steve from. And he thought that maybe it would have been better to burn after all.

 

***

 

_“A truth should exist,_

_it should not be used_

_like this. If I love you_

_is that a fact or a weapon?”_

 

***

 

**Now:**

 

It's been three months, three unbearably long and difficult months full of sleepless nights and worry and hurt and yet Steve wouldn't change them for anything, because they've been three months that Bucky's stayed with him. After recovering from his injuries he had gone after Bucky with Sam, and they'd followed leads that seemed sometimes to be just whispers in the wind until they exploded into destroyed secret bases and dead HYDRA agents. They never quite caught up with Bucky, sometimes they were so close he could almost feel his friend in the air, see him in the corner of his eye, but never close enough that he could say for sure he wasn't just imagining.

And then he didn't have to chase after Bucky anymore. It happened like this.

He was back at his apartment in Brooklyn that day. He'd moved back to New York after SHIELD fell but he didn't want to live in the Avengers Tower as Tony had dubbed it after renovations. He visited there often to see the other Avengers who had made it their home base even if they didn't live there all the time. He especially liked spending time with Nat who stayed there if she wasn't somewhere in the wind. She sent him postcards from all kinds of unexpected places. She never wrote much, never signed her name, but every time she came back she seemed more in peace with herself, happier.

He was doing laundry, and the noise of the machine masked the noise that must have been there, because Steve came from the bedroom with the book he had been reading to suddenly find out he wasn't alone anymore. Bucky looked lost and in control at the same time, wearing nondescript clothes. His stance was full of confidence like the Winter Soldier but his eyes asked for help.

The book tumbled from Steve's suddenly limp fingers, and for a moment all he could think of was that he lived on the ninth floor and had Bucky climbed all that way up outside because his balcony door was slightly ajar. Then, because he didn't yet know it all, he felt relief and sent a thank you, he doesn't quite know to whom anymore. He wanted to ask a million things, to cross the distance and catch Bucky in his arms to make sure he was real. He settled to one question.

“Will you stay?”

Bucky had stayed and it had been harder than Steve had ever imagined, even having seen all the files, with the advice from Nat and Sam and Clint. He knew recovering, coming back from all that Bucky had experienced wouldn't be easy, that it would be a long journey, and that even in the best case it would be a different Bucky from the one he had known. But this was something one could never be prepared for, and they had taken it day at a time, when at first Bucky stayed in the apartment but barely looked at him and often spent time in different rooms. Steve tried to give him space, tried to not move too fast, but it was difficult when every fiber of his being hurt seeing Bucky like this. It was the hardest trying to remember to not give more help than Bucky was ready to receive, to not try to save him from himself.

And yet, those days, as much as they hurt, as difficult they were, they were still better than the detached indifference, the alienation he'd felt in this new world until the day the Winter Soldier's mask fell away. It got better slowly, gradually, sometimes one step forward two steps back. It felt like like he was watching Bucky slowly dragging himself out of a hole dug by countless people, unimaginable wars and he felt like all he tried to do to help wasn't good enough. There were the setbacks, times when he didn't understand and felt like maybe he hurt more than he did good, and other times when they were curled in armchairs with cups of coffee, listening to old music and Bucky looked almost serene and for a moment he believed they would come through in the end.

He's thankful just to have Bucky with him, even though it's a feeling filled with guilt when he remembers all that Bucky has had to go through to get there. And he's angry, angry at HYDRA, angry at the world, angry at fate that made it happen, but for all that anger, he can't shake off feeling grateful. He's not that good of a person.

Sam had said that recovery is not an even process, sometimes it would seem like nothing happens, sometimes it would be all ups and downs with no evidence of improvement and sometimes it would take a sudden, miraculous leap forward. It was a night of one such miracle.

Steve had woken up at three and for a moment he couldn't tell what it was that woke him until he heard the light steps from the living room. It was a familiar gait, and he wondered what it meant he could hear Bucky. Normally he didn't make a sound even in the daytime, often he just seemed to appear in the room with Steve.

He gets out of the bed, pulls on a hoodie he had left on the chair the previous night, and goes to the living room. Bucky doesn't even notice he's there at first, and earlier this would have made him vary, because when Bucky was lost in thoughts he sometimes lashed out if he got surprised. It hadn't happened during the last month, though. Maybe it was because Bucky had finally gotten a little bit used to having someone he could trust with him. So he just stands there in the doorway, watching Bucky walk to and fro across the room. After a moment he steps in and Bucky notices him and stops, and even if Steve can't really see his expression in the darkness, there is something about his posture that looks defeated and pleading at the same time.

It's all instinct when he steps closer and extends his hands in a silent invitation. He doesn't take the last step, because for most of the time Bucky isn't at all comfortable with being touched, and so he's kept the distance. They haven't touched each other during the three months Bucky has lived with him except for the time he'd got a wound on his back from a fight with a group robots. He hadn't even noticed the wound until he'd got back home, even though it had been quite deep. Bucky had closed it with surgical glue and bandaged it. Now Bucky is the one that steps forward and collapses in Steve’s arms, hiding his face in the crook of Steve's neck. They stay like that for a long time, arms around each other, holding on so tight it should be uncomfortable but it isn't. Bucky is shaking and Steve feels tears in his eyes and he lets them fall now, after holding them back for so long.

It gets easier after that, surprisingly so. They spend more time in the living room together, and their talks are more like actual discussions instead of Steve just filling the silence with his chatter. They talk about actual, serious things and Bucky starts, bit by bit, telling him about his memories and just how he generally feels about things. Steve doesn't feel like he's constantly walking on thin ice anymore now that it's much less of a guesswork living with Bucky.

Bucky also starts to accept other people in the apartment besides Steve, and even starts talking to them. And it's good, good that his circles get wider so Steve steps firmly over the irrational feeling that says he doesn't like sharing Bucky's time. Because if he were to limit this, deep down it would mean he wasn't any better than HYDRA, and he won't do that to Bucky. Sam starts to come over regularly, and Nat visits when she's in the country, sometimes by herself and sometimes with Clint. Most of the time it's still just the two of them.

It's still not perfect of course; Bucky has a lot of way to go still, but it's much easier, and Steve is no longer consumed with anxiety. Now there's time for more than that, for reflection, and with it something he'd pushed to the back of his mind resurfaces, and suddenly there's a whole another complication in their situation.

Thing is, he's loved Bucky for almost longer than he can remember, and certainly for longer than he knew what it even meant. And not like a comrade, a friend, a brother. It was more than that, and it was always there. Of course he never talked about it, but sometimes he thought Bucky must have known. How could he not, because he knew everything about Steve. And sometimes, for fleeting moments he later thought he had only imagined, he thought Bucky didn't see him quite as a friend only. But those moments never lasted, and sometimes it felt that Bucky was pointedly friendly, as if to try to define their relationship. Steve just didn't know if it was for him, for Bucky or for them both.

There were times when he thought his love for Bucky was fading, changing, that he was getting over it. Like when Bucky left for Europe and he signed up for the experiment and met Peggy. And he had loved her, truly, and he'd thought that maybe there would be a chance for a normal life for him, a chance for happiness. Because of course there wouldn't be that with Bucky, there couldn't. But as much as he loved her, it didn't mean hed stopped loving Bucky. That was rooted too deep within him, written in his bones. He'd realized it on that day he'd heard of the capture of the 107th. There had been no choice but to go after them, after Bucky.

After he returned with Bucky for a while it had been almost good. The war had been terrible, and they sometimes had to do things that left him reeling, feeling sick and not able to sleep, but they endured. Above all this, he got to do something, he got to be useful, he had his team, his best friend and Peggy, and after a while it started to feel like they had a chance of winning, a chance of ending it. It started to feel likely that they would get to go back home at the end of it. And that perhaps his life wouldn't be like he had always imagined, lonely. Maybe it would be a normal one, as close as possible, with a family, with a best friend.

He tried not to think of the moments when sometimes at camp or in a bar Bucky sometimes leaned into him, apparently without noticing. He had tried to tell himself to not want anything more than the regular life, because he knew it would be good, it would be the best thing he could hope for. And then it had all fallen apart on that snowy day on a train in the mountains. Everything that came after was just his reaction to it.

And now he has Bucky back in his life, and he resembles the Bucky he remembers more and more as time passes, and it gets harder and harder to push down the old feelings. He knows the world has changed and that it’s not illegal anymore for him to openly love another man, although he does know it would be controversial, he has no illusions about it. But when it comes to the two of them, nothing has changed. He’s still in love with Bucky, who very definitely cares about him as a friend. Nothing more than that. And he'll take it, because it's more than he deserves, really. He won't ask more than that.

 

***

 

It’s been half a year since Bucky came to him and they have mostly settled into their new life. They see their friends, Bucky gets along with the rest of the Avengers most of the time, even if he still rarely leaves the apartment. Steve goes running, sometimes with Sam, who has also moved to New York and works still at the VA. Sometimes there are incidents that the Avengers need to take care of but mostly it's just quiet life for them.

Steve has again settled into the familiar pattern of loving Bucky more than he thinks he's welcome to, and accepting the friendship he has. It's almost easy by now.

One morning when he comes home from a run he notes that Bucky seems restless, but he doesn't pay too much attention to it; Bucky gets like that sometimes. He asks if they should go out, to the store or visit Sam maybe, but Bucky declines, and so they stay inside, going about their day as usual. By evening Bucky's restlessness hasn't dissipated like it usually does, and instead has rubbed onto Steve. They order in because cooking doesn't seem like a good idea in their current mindset, and Steve wonders if the loaded atmosphere will lead into an argument. They fight occasionally, because they both still have temper, but it's never over anything serious, nor do the fights last long.

After dinner he goes to fetch his book from the bedroom, and when he turns to go back he's surprised almost out of his skin because Bucky is right there in his his space. His thoughts flash back to that other evening when he had gone to get a book and Bucky had just suddenly been there, only not in his room. He doesn't think Bucky has ever even been in his room before, and he doesn't know what it means.

He's about to ask if something's wrong when Bucky steps even closer, and by instinct he steps away. He gets backed right to the edge of his bed and he sits down because it's that or fall. Bucky steps still closer, and a few months ago this would have felt dangerous, but not now; it's been a long time since he felt threatened in Bucky's presence. And then Bucky sinks down to his knees and it occurs to him that maybe this is dangerous in a whole new way.

Bucky pushes his knees apart and gets to working on opening his belt before his brain catches up with what's happening and he manages to gently close his hands around Bucky's wrists.

“Don't,” he says and even to his own ears he doesn't sound convincing. Because this is something he wants and at the same time not at all. “Why are you doing this?”

“He always knew, knew what it meant when you looked at him, knew what you wanted, maybe more than you did. I remember.”

It takes a moment for Steve to realize that Bucky has reverted back to speaking of himself before the fall in third person, like he sometimes does. Usually it happens when he's on the edge, and it's all the more reason for him to tighten his grip. He searches for something to say, to explain, but Bucky's next words are like punch to his gut.

“He knew you wanted him but he never chose you. Never wanted to.”

It's the truth, _of course_ it's the truth, Steve has known it half his life, but it still hurts. “And now what, why?” He just doesn't understand.

“Now I want to.”

Bucky finally looks at him, steady and serious, and it would be easy to let go, to let this happen. Only he can't, because after it would only be worse. He’s happy to be Bucky's friend, but he knows it only works as long as they are nothing more than friends. They can't be more if it's not all the way, and he knows it's not like that for Bucky. His voice is barely more than a whisper when he explains.

“Bucky, I would do so many things for you, I'd let you do many things, almost anything, but not this. I can't.”

“But you still want this, I can see it.”

“You're right, I do. But not like this. Because it's not just wanting this, I want all of it, all of you. And you can't give me that, I know. You don't love me like that, and it's _okay_. But I can't handle it if we go just half way.”

For a moment they stay like that, Bucky just stares at him, and he couldn't move under that gaze even if he had wanted to. And then with one fluid motion Bucky stands up and frees his hands from Steve's grip which had loosened without him really noticing. Bucky is gone from the room before Steve says anything more and he suddenly realizes he feels faint because he's been hardly breathing. He sucks air in and leans onto his knees for a while before he gets up.

He goes to the nearby boxing gym that he sometimes visits, and takes his frustration and confusion on the punching bags. It doesn't really help.

After that the atmosphere in the apartment has changed, and he doesn't know how to fix it. Maybe it can't be fixed. Bucky goes back to spending time mostly in different rooms and they don't talk like they have for the last few months. Of course their friends notice that change, and both Sam and Nat try to get them to talk about it. He doesn't elaborate, doesn't know how to, and he doesn't know what Bucky tells them, but he knows it's not what had happened. At least they seem to be satisfied it's not something to do with HYDRA or Bucky relapsing back into Winter Soldier, because they stop asking questions, just offer to listen. Steve is grateful to them, but this isn't something he's prepared to talk about. These days he's more comfortable in talking about his feelings and past, but this is still too much.

The days stretch like they used to in the first couple of months after Bucky came back, and he just hopes it gets better eventually. He doesn't sleep very well, and he thinks Bucky doesn't either, but they don't talk about it, like they don't talk about anything important anymore.

Bucky doesn't leave, though. It is something.

 

***

 

_He's conscious but he cannot move, pinned down so badly by the distorted plane frame that he can't free himself even with his superhuman strength. He feels dizzy, lightheaded and his vision is distorted. He knows he hit his head at the impact on the ice, but his accelerated healing has already kicked in, and he knows the head injury isn't life threatening. He tries to get a hold of the metal structure pinning him down, and maybe he can shift it a little, maybe he will be able to crawl out. This little ray of hope is destroyed though when the plane shifts again on the unstable ice. He can hear the metal groaning and feel the plane sinking, and then there is a rush of cold, cold water that engulfs him completely in a matter of seconds._

_It's dark and cold and his lungs are on fire, the pressure unbearable, but he is still conscious, his heart is still beating. He's not pinned down quite so badly, but he still can't move enough to make it to safety. He knows a normal human being would have lost consciousness already, would have been claimed by the merciful oblivion, but his brain and heart just won't shut down. He's freezing in the darkness and so alone, not even the ghosts from the past have come to comfort him. Except it's not quite so cold, the water is cool but not freezing and he's still dizzy but he can see flaming pieces of the helicarrier hit the water above him as he sinks down, unable to muster the strength to kick himself back to the surface. He's finally losing his consciousness, but he catches a glimpse of a hand reaching towards him. The firelight glints on the metal._

Except it's not a hand made of metal that encircles his wrist, and he's not drowning but lying on his own bed in Brooklyn. Bucky is crouched on the floor a few steps back where he'd moved as soon as Steve woke up. For a moment they just stare at each other and then Bucky moves closer and settles curled at the foot of the bed. Steve sits up against the headboard, and doesn't know what to expect. Since the time he had said no to Bucky he's avoided being close to Steve, only staying in the same room if he has to. But now, even if he keeps the distance, Bucky is settled and doesn't seem uncomfortable. Even more surprisingly, it's Bucky who breaks the silence.

“What do you dream about?”

It's straight to the point, and Steve doesn't know how to respond at first. Because this is something he's never told anyone, not to the SHIELD assigned psychiatrists, not even to Sam, with whom Steve finds it easier to talk than just about anyone else. But he had said he'd do almost anything for Bucky and he has so desperately wished time and time again that Bucky would fully confide in him. It doesn't feel right to hold back, even the tough things, even things that are difficult to talk about. Because he can't expect confidence in him if he isn't willing to extend his to Bucky.

“Drowning,” he confesses, and it comes out as a whisper. His voice is steadier, though, when he continues. “On the plane back during the war, when I put it to the ice I lost consciousness for a bit, but I regained it later. I was pinned down and couldn't move , and then the plane sunk and water came in. That's what I dream about most of the times. There are some other nightmares, but this is the most common one. And I never wake up, I'm just trapped in the dream like I was in that plane, until it all goes black.”

He doesn't look at Bucky while telling about his dream, focusing on the wall opposite where the light from the windows make patterns. From the corner of his eye he sees Bucky shift a bit, and looks at him straight in the eyes.

“It was different this time, though. It changed and in the end I felt you pulling me out of the water, like you did in Washington. It's familiar, you always used to pull me out of trouble, and guess you can still do it.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Steve feels like wincing, because he has no idea if this is the right thing to say, if it means expecting too much of Bucky, even though he was just stating the fact. But maybe, he fears, Bucky will feel pressured by expectation and it's the last thing he wants. He tries to come up with something else to say, something to make it less serious, but before he can Bucky visibly relaxes and let's out a yawn. And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he crawls up the bed and gets under the covers. He stays on the other side of the bed, not really close to touching Steve, who has never really gotten the hang of sleeping in the middle of the bed that has always felt much bigger than he needed. Bucky curls on his side, face towards him, and he slides down to settle on his pillow. He has no idea what this means, but he's not about to deny them this, he doesn't want to deny it, because he's fairly sure he couldn't go back to sleep alone after the nightmare. But with Bucky here, breathing evenly by his side he feels safe like he hasn't since the day on the train when he thought he'd lost Bucky forever.

He falls asleep and they both sleep without disturbance until late in the morning.

 

***

 

Steve opens his eyes and finds Bucky still on the other side of the bed, turned towards him and looking at him with steady eyes. He looks calmer than Steve remembers seeing him in this century, and there's not even hint of sleep in his eyes. He must have been awake for a while already. Steve feels more rested than he remembers feeling in a long time, even though the nightmare woke him up. He still feels completely safe, and he's not sure if it's the right thing. Not because Bucky is dangerous, of course he is, but so is Steve. It's because he doesn't know if he can allow himself this, if he is lying to himself, to them both, if he is expecting too much.

Neither one of them has spoken since he woke up; they just keep looking at each other, and Steve again gets that feeling that sometimes almost overwhelms him. It's often difficult to grasp that they are both here, together. They both could have died, should have died really, but didn't. Everything that happened should have been enough to tear them apart, but in the end they were stronger, and here they are, together, and it feels right like nothing else in the world does.

After a while Bucky reaches out his left hand and touches his fingertips lightly on Steves cheek. It's almost not a touch at all, he can barely feel the cool tips of metal. He tries not to move, tries to guess what is on Bucky's mind, tries not to think that he may have to say no again. For a bit they stay still like that, and then Bucky draws his hand back. The absence feels like a burn.

“I don't understand,” Bucky quietly confesses, “I have these thoughts crowding my head, all the time. How to kill, how to injure, how to take advantage of any given situation. When I look at someone all the ways I could hurt them go through my mind. I don't have to think of them, they just are there, and I can't make them go away. But with you, it's quieter in my head. When I look at you I see just you, not a target, and I feel like I can touch you without having to stop myself from hurting you. I don't know what it means.”

Steve is left reeling with Bucky's words, it's longer than he's heard him speak at once in a long time. They stay like that for a moment more and then Bucky gets up and heads out of the room. Steve stares after him even when he's out of sight, and he doesn't understand either. He doesn't know what it means that Bucky feels like that. He knows about the Winter Soldier's instincts, they have talked about those, but this is the first time he hears about the rest. And it's huge, he knows that, but he doesn't know what it says about them, what it means.

He wants to run, to go to the gym and hit punching bags to breaking point, but it's only a part of him, the part that has been almost unable to bear the peculiar loneliness he's felt on this new century, regardless of how many new friends he's made. But today that side is weaker, and instead he gets up and goes after Bucky.

Bucky sits on the balcony, his hands curled in the sleeves of his sweatshirt, and Steve realizes absently it's his sweatshirt that he'd noticed missing a while back, but had forgotten all about afterwards. The balcony floor is cold under his bare feet and it really is too cold to be out only in a tank top despite the fact that the spring has been warmer than normal. He's not about to go back though.

Bucky doesn't turn to look at him, but his eyes are not absent like they sometimes are. Those times Steve can talk to him without him hearing a word, but this is different. He searches for the right words, and settles on the thing that's clearest on his mind.

“I'm not exactly sure what it means either. Sometimes I feel like everything is unclear and tangled up, but I do know something. It felt like I had a hole in my heart from that moment I couldn't reach you on that train, until that day you looked at me and I could tell you knew me, really knew me again. And I know I haven't slept well in a long time until last night with you. I could try to name reasons, to explain why these things happen, but it wouldn't matter, not really, because what matters infinitely more is that they are true. It doesn't matter why.” Steve moves to stand in front of Bucky who lifts his eyes to look at him. “Maybe it's like that for you, that it doesn't matter why or how, just that it's true.”

Bucky stands up and steps closer to Steve. This time he doesn't back away.

“I thought I would find peace by trying to destroy everyone that had used me. I thought it would somehow erase what had happened, but of course it couldn't. It was almost the same thing, just killing. And then I thought I would never find peace.”

Bucky lifts his left hand, slowly but deliberately and places it on Steve's waist. The metal feels cold where his tank and sweatpants don't quite meet.

“When I touch you,” Bucky continues slowly, almost like discovering, “it feels like everything quiets down, like there's nothing else that matters. Is that it?”

“Is that what?”

“Is that the truth? Is this, is this love?”

Steve feels like the earth is suddenly spinning faster, like gravity’s gone haywire. He wants to crumble down, to lean his head on Bucky's shoulder, to touch him, but he can't bring himself to do so. He can't quite dare to believe this is real.

“It is whatever you want it to be,” he says, and he's never meant anything more in his life.

These days it's a lot harder for him to read Bucky than it was before the war. He's more still, more in control of his expressions. He rarely lets it show anything that's going through his mind. Until now it's mostly happened only when he's been too distressed about everything he's done, everything that's been done to him to remain in control. Those times always break Steve's heart. Now though, the neutrality slips away and for a moment Steve can see hesitation that turns into determination.

Slowly Bucky slides his left hand so that it's entirely touching Steve's skin. It's cold but he doesn't flinch, just steps a little closer, looking Bucky in the eyes all the way, even if it's hard because everything feels like it's too much suddenly. And perhaps it is what Bucky sees in his eyes that helps him to be sure of himself, because he lifts his other hand and curls his fingers at the back of Steve's neck, gentle and warm on the skin cooled by the spring air. Steve's hands apparently don't need directions from his head, because they've settled on Bucky, the right at the elbow made of metal, the other on his waist.

He's not even sure who moves, who pulls the other closer, but suddenly they are right in each other's space, Bucky's warm breath ghosting his face. He lets his fingers grip at the fabric of the sweatshirt and leans his forehead against Bucky's. Now he closes his eyes, trying to absorb everything he feels while trying to will the moment to last.

After a while he opens his eyes again, and it nearly takes his breath away, he has to pull back a bit to see it properly, because _Bucky is smiling_. Actually smiling at him, and the last time Steve saw it was on a ledge of a mountain and they were talking about the Cyclone and payback and he'd been happy.

He's happy now, it suddenly hits him. The hole he had in his heart is completely filled up and it feels like he's bursting, and it's like all those summer days they spent lying on the fire escape with Bucky, warm and beautiful. Except it's better, because he doesn't have to hide how he feels anymore. That's why he leans back towards Bucky and maybe it's also Bucky who pulls him closer and then their lips meet, light and easy and their noses bump and it's not perfect except it is. Then Bucky opens his mouth and their tongues slide hot and wet and urgent and Steve circles his arm around Bucky's waist to pull him closer. They stand there kissing like there's nothing else in the world until a particularly strong breeze makes Steve shiver, and the kiss breaks. He would regret it except now Bucky is laughing, not out loud like used to but silently shaking, and he looks so happy that Steve can only stare until Bucky pulls away and tugs him towards the door.

“Let’s go back inside, you're not really dressed for this weather.”

Steve lets himself be pulled back to his bedroom, and it's a jumble of thoughts that fill his head. On top of all is still the overwhelming happiness, then there is the realization of what is happening; so far he has mostly just reacted on instinct and now his brain is catching up, and there is a flutter of nerves in his chest at the thought. A part of him observes Bucky, who still seems determined, maybe even more so than before, and there is something about his body language that wasn't there before, a graceful efficiency that came from the Winter Soldier. It doesn't scare him though, it just gets filed into the part of his brain that has all the memories of Bucky, in every shape Steve has known him.

In his room Bucky turns around, and pulls him closer again to kiss him, to slide his hands under Steve's shirt, and this time he doesn't hesitate about putting his hands on Bucky, doesn't fear rejection like he has nearly all of his life. The kiss is more urgent now than it had been on the balcony, more heated with want and it goes straight to Steve's head. He can't really say how it happens, but he finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed reflexively lifting his arms when Bucky pulls his shirt up and over his head. It gets tossed away, and as if an afterthought Bucky pulls his sweatshirt and t-shirt off with one fluid motion and tosses them away as well before stepping closer to Steve and sinking down on his knees in front of him.

Seeing Bucky's bare skin makes Steve realize it's the first time outside of medical situation, and he thinks Bucky must have actively avoided letting him see his left shoulder area where the metal arm meets the human flesh. He can't look away now, and he lifts his hand, half unsure still whether he's allowed to, and traces the scarred skin with his fingers. Bucky shivers at bit at the touch but doesn't pull away, and of all the pledges of trust and intimacy this must be the biggest. For a moment it's like the whole world is concentrated on where he touches Bucky.

“You're thinking too much.”

Bucky's voice pulls him out, and it's true he supposes. Bucky is still kneeling in front of him, in between his knees actually, and his fingers are curled around the waistband of Steve's sweatpants, and just realizing this makes the blood rush away from his head. Bucky still looks happy, but at the same time there is a hint of a displeased pout to his mouth and Steve can't even begin to guess the reason for it.

“I seem to remember that the last time we were at this position, I had some very specific plans, but you said no. I'm kind of hoping you won't say no this time.”

And there's that outrageous smirk that Bucky sometimes used before when he was picking up girls, and Steve realizes the displeasure was entirely put upon even when he gets even more lightheaded at the mention of specific plans. His sweatpants don't feel that loose anymore and he wishes Bucky would just move his hands, until he notices how Bucky keeps just looking at him, patiently waiting for his answer. And there is only one answer. He reaches his hand to Bucky's hair.

“It's a yes this time.”

Bucky tugs at the waist of his sweatpants and he lifts his hips a bit to help but Bucky doesn't wait to get them completely off. Bucky lays his left palm at Steve's waist again and the coolness on the too hot skin is so startling that his eyes flutter involuntarily closed. And he opens them again because Bucky has wrapped his human hand around his dick and he's already almost painfully hard. He fights the reflex to close his eyes because he wants to see this, wants to see Bucky. Bucky licks his lower lip and does _something_ with his hand and Steve has to grip the mattress with his free hand because otherwise he would grip Bucky's hair way too hard.

It's like the whole world has shrunk, like there's nothing but them, the cool metal on his skin, sunlight dancing on the red star, his heartbeat loud in his ears and Bucky's mouth on him.

It's not long before he has to close his eyes, to just feel this. The room fills with the sound of his breathing, unsteady and ragged and there are words, he knows he's saying something, asking for something he didn't even know existed. Bucky's hands are steady, his grip at Steve's waist a bit firmer and not so cool anymore, and his mouth is hot and Steve is so close already. He tugs at Bucky's hair and says something, he doesn't even know if it has an actual meaning because he can't even hear himself anymore, but he can hear Bucky who doesn't stop but just hums around him and it's what sends him over the edge. His toes curl into the carpet and he actually sees stars and maybe he does grip Bucky's hair so he forces himself to let  go.

He's still breathing hard when he finally opens his eyes to see Bucky rise up from his knees in one fluid motion. There's a hint of smile on his lips when he crowds onto Steve and pushes him down until he's flat on his back, hips bracketed between Bucky's thighs. It's just instinct at this point when Steve reaches between them and pushes Bucky's pants down all the while his eyes never leave Bucky's. He couldn't look away from the pupils blown wide and the heat blooming on his cheeks, wouldn't want to look away. Bucky's hips jerk at his touch and his head falls on to Steve’s shoulder.

And then Bucky lets out a breath, a sigh and it's the most wonderful sound Steve's ever heard. He listens to every muffled word, every plea; faster, harder, there. And then Bucky's words dissolve into unintelligible noises except Steve knows what they mean, what it means that Bucky's hand grips hard the sheets next to his head, what the way Bucky rocks to his touch and then stills means.

Steve wraps his arm loosely around Bucky and they stay like that for a while, Bucky still leaning to his shoulder, their heartbeats slowing down to normal.

Steve presses a kiss on Bucky's temple, and thinks of all the things he wants to do that day. It's not so different from normal and yet it is. He wants to go to shower, but not alone like he usually does, he wants to make breakfast and maneuver around Bucky while doing so, he wants to curl on the sofa with a book and lean to Bucky instead of the pillows. He wants to go to sleep wrapped around Bucky.

The most wonderful thing is that he can, and he will. But not now, now he's content just lying here, breathing in sync with Bucky.

 

***

 

It's dark when he wakes up. He fell asleep with his arm thrown over Bucky, but now he's alone, and the sheets on the other half of the bed are cool. He listens and it's almost silent, he hears his own breathing and the faint noises the building makes. He could swear hes alone in the apartment.

Except he's not, because Bucky pads back into the room on silent feet, and slips into bed with him. The little sense of unease vanishes as Steve lets Bucky pull him close and they settle like they sometimes did during winters before the war; Steve's head resting on Bucky's arm, gathered safely close. Now he's bigger than he used to be then and the arm he rests his head on is made of metal but it's not uncomfortable; since the war all the pillows have felt too soft. Otherwise it's just the same, just as comfortable.

They sleep through the night without dreaming.

 

***

 

_“Your body is not a word,_

_it does not lie or_

_speak truth either._

_It is only_

_here or not here.”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title and excerpts from [this poem](http://readalittlepoetry.wordpress.com/2011/05/11/we-are-hard-by-margaret-atwood/) by Margaret Atwood. I highly recommend reading the whole thing in its devastating glory.
> 
> This was supposed to be way shorter (ha, that's familiar), I should probably get used to the idea that it takes me a thousand words just to clear my throat. Originally I had that bit I put into the summary, and then I went to look at my inspiration doc and found that poem and then it spiraled from there.
> 
> Hopefully you enjoyed these boys and their needlessly complicated lives, I know I do.
> 
> The way they fall asleep in the end is totally inspired by [this incredible fanart](http://the-steve-bucky-ship.tumblr.com/post/102093067618/so-lets-face-it-in-9-10-pre-war-steve-bucky), go give it all the hearts on tumblr.


End file.
